


discerning/demanding

by hito



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-13
Updated: 2012-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-03 14:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/382372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito/pseuds/hito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill. Stiles doesn't know why Derek keeps talking about this dinner like it's a real date or something. Stiles knows he's joking. Obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	discerning/demanding

“Soooooo,” Scott drawls with a knowing grin. 

“So what?” Stiles asks, teeth snapping off the end of his beef jerky. 

“You and Derek, dude,” Scott says, leaning forward over the lunchtable. He looks bizarrely excited. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to kill me. I think he actually wants to talk to me.” 

“He’s taking you to Lotus Garden,” Scott says, squinting his bemusement through his smile. 

“Yeah. I’ve never been. It’s supposed to be nice, right? Good Singapore, you think?” 

“You aren’t even getting the set menu,” Scott says. 

“How do _you_ know that?” 

“Allison checked!” Scott says defensively. “She had to make sure you weren’t going to get shortchanged.” 

“I’m not lending Derek _money_ ,” Stiles says. 

“Because _I_ wasn’t going to ask, I mean, Derek’s the _alpha_ , I wasn’t going to risk getting booted below _Jackson_ in the food chain—“ 

“Does Derek need to borrow money?” 

“—but honestly it didn’t even occur to me until Allison told me, and by then she’d already done it. But I wouldn’t have done it anyway, you know?” 

“What?” Stiles asks, baffled. 

“—Wait, I didn’t mean I wouldn’t do that for you, that isn’t what I meant,” Scott says, but Stiles has no idea what he _did_ mean, and anyway, Scott just blinks at him a couple times and changes the subject. 

“What do you mean, does Derek need money?” 

“Well when he said he wanted to have a discussion with me over dinner I thought he was coming around on Lydia, because you know I’m right, but do you think he wants to borrow money?” 

“Oh my god,” Scott says. 

“Because I don’t even have any money.” 

“Oh my god,” Scott says, pityingly. 

“So,” Stiles says. “Me and Derek. You’re saying I should make sure I have enough on me to pick up his side of the check.” 

“No,” Scott says. “Hey, how much money do you have?” 

“Thirty—two,” Stiles says. 

“Can I borrow it?” 

“You—“ 

“— _promised_ Allison I’d take her to Catching Fire tonight and I’m totally out.” 

“Fuck,” Stiles says. “Fine.” 

“Thanks, man,” Scott says. 

“If I end up washing dishes in lieu of a call to my dad—“ 

“I’ll get you back,” Scott says easily, and Stiles knows he mostly will. 

*

Stiles puts a little bit of effort into getting ready for dinner; he isn’t capable of lying to himself about that, kinder though it would be. 

Then he scoffs at his reflection and puts his school-clothes back on. 

“Crap,” he says, when he opens the door to Derek. “I thought we were meeting there.” And, “Should I change?” 

“If you want to,” Derek says, after a minute. “You look good, though.” 

“Okay,” Stiles says, wondering why Derek is lying to him. Derek is wearing a shirt under his jacket, crisp and white, and Stiles is pretty sure Derek doesn’t even own an iron. Is it _new_? He thinks it might be new. He’s never seen it before. 

“Okay?” Derek asks. “Do you want to change? I can wait.” 

“Why bother,” Stiles says gloomily, and steps out onto his porch, begins making his way to Derek’s car. “What are you doing after this?” Stiles wouldn’t have expected Derek to have plans, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek speak to another living creature he wasn’t forced into contact with, but he must have something going on, looking like that. 

“Depends how the evening goes,” Derek says, and he sounds stilted, but he smiles. 

“Oh—kay,” Stiles says, and tips his head to the side. “I feel like you’re being weird. Why are you being weird?” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, looking uncomfortable now too. “I don’t want this to be awkward.” He only endures Stiles’ stare for a second before he twitches, says, “We should get to the restaurant, we don’t want to be late.” 

“Wait,” Stiles says, as Derek opens the door for him, “this place has _reservations_?” 

*

And how. 

Stiles isn’t surprised they let him through the door or anything—Beacon Hills couldn’t sustain anything that ritzy. Beacon Hills doesn’t _have_ anything ritzier than this, that’s the point, that’s what Stiles doesn’t get. His eyes linger on the other tables: a large group that he thinks is a birthday party; quiet older couples; and younger couples on dates, women pretty and bright, men looking—not unlike Derek. 

“Are you meeting someone here after?” Stiles asks suddenly. 

“What?” Derek says. “No!” 

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Do you want to talk about your stupid problem with Lydia already, so you can get out of here?” 

“What?” Derek says. “I don’t want to talk about Lydia!” 

“Right,” Stiles says, totally perplexed, and he’s about to ask what the hell is going on when their waitress approaches, all nervous, eager politeness. 

When Derek says, “I’ll have the jackfruit curry too,” Stiles is the one saying, “What!” and Derek glares. That, Stiles gets; in fact, he gets that _all the time_. 

“I’ll have the same,” Derek says, surly, and the poor waitress nods and hurries away. “What is your problem?” he hisses at Stiles, leaning close in a—threatening?—leaning very close. 

“My problem?” Stiles squeaks. 

“Are you going to argue with me over every single little thing? I’m just trying to be nice!” 

“That’s weird,” Stiles says helplessly. 

“If you didn’t want to go on a date with me you could have just said,” Derek says, the weirdest thing of all. 

Stiles chokes out a laugh. “Oh, that’s—“ It isn’t funny. “Scott put you up to this, right?” 

“Up to dating you?” Derek asks, eyebrows raised. “No.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“No, Scott didn’t make me do it,” Derek says, frustrated. “Scott isn’t capable of making a mouse eat cheese.” 

Stiles would sooner believe that Scott had eaten a blue cheese moon and solved all their problems than _this_. There _literally_ is no way that this would ever happen to him. This is obviously a joke Derek and Scott have cooked up together. 

He smiles, relieved at having arrived at a conclusion, even if it isn’t the one he would have wanted. 

Derek glares suspiciously at him, but when Stiles says, “Right, I get it,” he relaxes; and he listens attentively to everything Stiles has to say on the topic of Lydia’s function within the pack and how wrong Derek is about it; and when Stiles’ foot accidentally brushes Derek’s halfway through their shared pumpkin soup, Derek plays footsie with him for the rest of the meal. 

Stiles thinks he might have lost track of what he was talking about somewhere in there, possibly when Derek’s hand moved from his knee to his thigh, but Derek remained deeply interested, eyes fixed on his mouth, so he must have been saying something of value, even if he can’t remember a word of it. 

Derek makes Stiles split a bowl of lychees with him, and then he pays for both of them while Stiles is chasing the last one. 

Stiles doesn’t know what Scott was _talking_ about. 

But this is all a joke, right, so maybe that was part of it? Stiles needs a best friend with a better sense of humour. 

Also, he needs another lychee, so Derek orders another portion, watches him eat it, and then pays for that, too. 

*

“Okay,” Stiles says, when they’re standing in front of his door. “Goodnight.” 

“Was it?” Derek asks. 

“Oh—“ Stiles wavers. “It was, yes.” 

“Not weird?” 

“ _So_ weird,” Stiles says. “So, so weird!” 

“You’ll get used to it,” Derek says. 

“Um,” Stiles says, wondering what they have planned for him next, and then Derek is kissing him, warm tongue pushing into his mouth, warm body pushing him backwards until he’s trapped against his own front door, hands loose in Derek’s hair only because there’s no way Stiles is going to be able to get him any closer. 

“Okay,” Stiles says, when Derek lets him breathe, and Derek smiles at him, has been smiling at him a lot tonight. Wait, does that— 

“Good,” he says, easing back. “I should probably let you go, though. Your dad’s probably getting his service revolver from the safe.” 

“My dad’s on tonight,” Stiles says, and he’s fairly certain Derek should have been able to hear that, smell it, so— 

“Oh,” Derek says quietly, and his whole face brightens. “I should’ve known that, I’m just—“ He drags his nose from Stiles’ throat to his cheekbone. “—distracted. Can I come in?” 

“Um,” Stiles says, and the next thing he knows he’s being pushed against his front door again, but this time from the inside. 

“Wait,” he says suspiciously, clutching Derek’s shirt. “This wasn’t a date, was it? I mean, was this a date?” 

Derek is laughing at him as he drops to his knees. 

“I would know if you were into me,” Stiles says. “You aren’t.” 

“Okay,” Derek says agreeably, and pulls Stiles’ zipper down, pulls at his boxers until his cock springs free. 

“You’re not interested in my penis at all,” Stiles says, watching him touch it. “You’re not interested in congress—“ 

He has to stop talking while Derek licks it. 

“Hmm?” Derek asks, mouth opening to take him in. 

“Are you _joking_?” Stiles asks, last-ditch. “This is a joke, right?” 

And Derek’s laugh vibrates right through him, because his cock is in Derek’s _mouth_ , and Stiles doesn’t even feel bad when he jerks hard and comes all over Derek’s face, because the asshole deserves it. 

*

“You have to tell me things like that,” Stiles says, when he’s shoving Derek out the door half an hour before his father is due home. 

“Like what?” Derek asks, through his mouthful of Stiles’ skin. 

“Get off my neck,” Stiles says, annoyed. “You’re going to leave a hickey.” 

“Um,” Derek says, and Stiles narrows his eyes. 

“Did Scott put you up to that?” he asks. “Because my dad isn’t going to care that you gave me a hickey, he’s just going to make you take us _both_ out for dinner next time, and you can tell Scott that I’m going to tell Allison that his first hickey came from a vacuum, and when we go to the movies, you’re paying, dude.” 

“Oh,” Derek says. “Scott said he wanted us all to go to some movie tomorrow night, but I told him we’d have other plans.” 

“Do we?” Stiles asks, and Derek shrugs, eyelashes leaving shadows on his cheeks in the light from the street outside. 

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, “we do,” and he kisses Derek goodnight until tomorrow.


End file.
